


Hellfire

by altairattorney



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Curses, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Mind Manipulation, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin cannot scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellfire

Martin cannot scream.  
  
He tries with every breath, his lips swollen and parted in fear. He still can’t. No matter how hard he fights, how desperately he needs it — the book will not let him.

He should have been careful. He should  _always_  be more careful, he slowly reminds himself, somewhere from the haze of his pain. He should have worked at reasonable hours, after reasonable meals, but no — he had to stretch it to the impossible, as he always does. 

He lets himself slip so easily, just too engrossed in his work to keep his distance. That is exactly when it happens.

The sequence of events is the same every time.

He ignores the growing pulse of the Daedric letters — it is not a certainty, and not new enough. He is tricked into believing it can be due to the late hour, as it usually is. It doesn’t really have to be one of the first signs.

He brushes it off, wishing for the best. He only has a few more seconds to stare at the Mysterium Xarxes, eyes unfocused and worn.

Then, everything around him slows down.

It is terrible, the influence of that magic. It is all blood, harsh taste, fire that crawls under every inch of his skin. He can feel the hands of evil on him — playing around with his sanity, drawing patterns of fire all over his throat. The immensity of its power fills his whole body, not enough, never enough to host it all. Its strength is such that, from inside, he feels it pressed against his whole being.

Yet, of course, Martin cannot scream.

It is all part of the torture. There is no way he can let it out — it would be too easy. All he can do is throw back his head, stare at the ceiling, and speak out the immense suffering in the silence of his breath. 

This is the price to pay. His face speaks by itself, in the gleam of the fireplace. This is his role in a demonic game; he has no choice but to be alone. Alone, as usual, he must work and suffer. His pale skin, his sweat, his glassy gaze — they are the only signs he can show.

He needs help. But this is a curse; there is no way back, and no one is allowed to see in what way he is falling apart. 

The few usual words, words from a friendly voice, meet his ears. It scares him, how distant and weak they sound.

"It’s all right, Baurus," he breathes, his answer made mechanical by habit.  "I am fine."

Martin never turns to look at his friend’s worried glance. He forces his head down, and keeps reading. 

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Martin Septim day, inspired by the beautiful corrupted!Martin pieces of fanart by our amazing denythem. Thank you for the inspiration, you truly are a wonderful artist and a great treasure for our fandom. I am suffering even more than usual for my poor dear.


End file.
